


All This And Heaven Too

by lixabiz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is fit. It’s an irrefutable fact of the universe, and despite her every effort to ignore this overwhelmingly obvious fact, it keeps slapping her in the face every time she looks at him. It’s just not fair. (Happy Birthday Jen!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gallifreyslostson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/gifts).



Rose wakes from her dream with a disgruntled moan and rolls over in bed.

“Good morning, Rose,” says the Doctor in his most cheerful singsong voice. It sounds very close, which means _he_ is very close, which means he must be-

She sits up, too quickly, and stares blearily at him through a mess of tangled blonde curls. “You’re in my bedroom.”

“Yep,” he says, perching on the edge of her shockingly pink bed in her shockingly pink childhood room. “Hello.” He smiles, mouth pouting slightly at the end of that vowel sound, and Rose notices with despair that his hair is perfectly coiffed and tousled.

The Doctor is fit.

It’s an irrefutable fact of the universe, and despite her every effort to ignore this overwhelmingly obvious truth, it keeps slapping her in the face every time she looks at him. He is _so_ fit.

It’s just not fair.

She groans again, heartfelt, and falls back onto her bed, shutting her eyes.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you really do have to get up, Rose. Jackie’s starting to make dying whale noises. It’s quite unseemly. I’d do something about it, but I really don’t want to go into her bedroom.”

The bed dips again, and she can feel his solid presence, looming over her, elbows denting her mattress and the pillow beneath her head. Something pointy prods her in the shoulder, once, twice. She makes a noise, half-growl, half whine.

“Blimey, you really aren’t a morning person, are you?”

That’s not the point, but she can’t really say so.

She’d been dreaming of him. In her room, in her bed, in a lot of things, really.

Rose sighs again, deeply, and the Doctor asks, “You alright?”

She lies, of course, and drags herself out of bed.

 

* * *

 

Mum has got a nasty cold, and Rose’s promise of ‘a quick visit, just a day’ turns into a week and more. The Doctor has been surprisingly patient and understanding, looking Jackie over and prescribing rest and fluids like a real physician might do. He draws the line at staying in the flat overnight, returning to the TARDIS to tinker when Rose tucks Jackie into bed, but returns every morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He’s even willingly gone with Rose to run household errands, like taking mum’s laundry to the cleaner’s, and today they’re doing the shopping.

It’s all going swimmingly, until they get to the shop, and Rose looks at the list Jackie gave her.

The last item on it is… tampons. Right.

Her face goes crimson of its own accord as she hurries past what seems like miles of condoms in the personal hygiene aisle. When did this shop get so many condoms? Who is buying all these condoms?

Rose snatches up a box of tampons and makes a run for the checkout. The Doctor takes his time, and Rose doesn’t look, just in case she turns and sees him looking at personal lubricant or something and totally loses her mind. It’s a real danger, that - she’s been balancing on the edge for days, weeks, months even. The merest thing could send her over into the deep end.

(Already she knows she’s going to have dreams about him and lubricant, and it’s going to be hell.)

Right.

She’s just going to go home and put Jackie out of her misery, then. Rose doesn’t need a mum anyway. What good are mums, if they make their daughters go to the shops to fetch tampons from the bloody condom aisle when they know said daughter is going to have a 900 year old fit alien time traveller two steps behind her at all times?

It’s about to rain when they leave the shop, and as soon as they set foot back at Jackie’s it starts to pour. The Doctor stands by the window, peering through the curtains at the torrential deluge, and Rose can tell by the tapping of his trainer-clad foot on the carpet that he’s starting to get uneasy.

It’s time to go.

He _can_ do domestic, she’s realised. Just not for long, but that’s perfectly alright with Rose, because _she_ can’t do domestic for long, either. She’s just as eager to get on with things as he is, itching to get back to the big wide Universe out there, away from shops filled with condoms and the memory of his torso leaning against her mattress, the vision of hot pink painted walls providing a backdrop to his intergalactic quiff. There’s no escaping the dreams, but at least they won’t be caged in her childhood bed, in her human bedroom, on her home planet, the one place he’ll never- well, nevermind.

“Let’s go somewhere sunny,” Rose suggests once they’re back in the TARDIS.

The Doctor, always prepared for a well-timed flourish, flings a switch with relish and smiles broadly. “I know _just_ the place!” he cries, and casts them unerringly into the vortex, babbling away about games and tournaments and crowd-pleasing afterparties.

Turbulence sends Rose careening across the console room, straight into the Doctor, who attempts to steady her with an extended arm. The momentum drives her past him, slipping through his grasp. Unable to get her balance, Rose pitches forwards. She’s about to slam her head into the gyroscope and give herself a concussion but the Doctor hops to the rescue, tall and tilting, his hand shooting out to snatch at her shoulder.

Except he doesn’t get her shoulder.

He gets something else, entirely, a whole handful of it, for a whole ten-seconds, forever immortalised in the section of Rose’s brain reserved for excruciating moments of humiliation she can never take back (that time when she was four and caught in a lie about her dad being alive, or the moment she’d discovered Jimmy Stone had bolted, leaving her with his debts, all forever etched into her memory.)

There’s a squeak (from her), a squeeze (from him, but it’s got to be involuntary, it’s got to be, just habit and muscle memory and… _heat_ ), and then they both fall backwards onto their arses, and the TARDIS shakes around them like it’s having paroxysms of laughter.

 

* * *

 

Rose suspects it’s not where the Doctor meant to take them, even though he won’t verbally admit it. She can’t fathom why, though, as he constantly lands the TARDIS light years from where he says he will, and Rose has forgiven him for worse mistakes - like, for instance, twelve months gone missing.

(She can’t shake off the feeling he was flustered at the time. Maybe he was appalled by his accidental boob grab, maybe she ought to apologize, but that can’t be right. She didn’t try to get him to grope her, nor does she like this awkward, embarrassing awareness lingering between them, or the way she can still sort of feel where his hand had been.)

In any case, Skövde is a game planet, one of many owned by big intergalactic companies and themed like all the rest. Rose and the Doctor have been to a couple before, but this is the first time they’re participating. It was a bit of an accident - they’d landed in the middle of registration, coming out of the TARDIS to find themselves teleported one way to sign-ups and their ship teleported another way to designated parking, halfway across the planet.

And now they are members of Class 425, Team B, playing Game 98C, first round. The C stands for 'casual’. She doesn’t want to know what 'A’ and 'B’ stands for, if this is what’s considered casual.

The game is Capture the Flag, planetary style. The native flora and fauna are carefully preserved, a 'natural, challenging environment’, it says in the brochure, for 'maximum thrill and excitement’.

It’s challenging, alright.

They’ve trudged through what seemed like miles of forest, the Doctor insisting they might as well play, it would only be three days, since there’s absolutely no way he can hijack the teleport system with the safeguards put in place. Once you’re in, you’re in, it seems. Rose didn’t mind the forest, so much, a bit like hiking and she’s got sensible shoes on.

(“Don’t worry, you won’t be eaten by Skövdean bears,” the Doctor says, cheerily. That hadn’t been a concern, but now it bloody was.)

Wading through a river, though - the water’s muddy and every step squelches - makes her wince.

“Almost there!” says the Doctor, looking straight ahead at the clump of dense forest separated from the other dense forest they’d emerged from by the body of water they’re crossing. “The enemy flag lies just up ahead. We’ll be heroes!”

He resumes his splashing. They’ve moved downstream a little, and in a way that is clearly unnatural, clearly manufactured to add to the 'challenge’,  the river abruptly merges into a swamp, full of swaying reeds tipped with odd cottonball-like puffs. The Doctor bends the plants out of his way, providing a path for Rose to follow. His coat is sodden, and she realises it must be heavy, weighted down with all that water. Still, she’s grateful for his wearing it, because otherwise she’d be ogling his perfectly fantastic bum covered in clingy wet brown suit.

(Not that Rose isn’t imagining it, anyway.)

A reed snaps in his clutch as he stumbles over a rock in the water that neither of them can see. With a brief caution, he reaches back blindly, arm extended, and Rose instinctively draws back, keeping certain parts of her anatomy well clear of his waggling fingers. Then she mentally tells herself off for being a ninny and takes his hand, as he clearly intended her to.

They clear the marsh in about two hundred metres, and find themselves back in humid forest.

“Where’s this flag?” Rose asks, wringing out the bottom of her shirt.

“It’s not actually a flag,” says the Doctor.

“What’s it look like, then?”

“Dunno. We’ve got to find it. There’s a damper on it that makes it hard to locate, but each team has to give three hints in the opening assembly-”

“-the one we weren’t paying attention to?”

“-so look for something small and yellow and, er, can’t remember the third thing, but think of it as playing I spy with my little eye, fun guessing game-”

Rose tilts her head back, surveying the woody growth, “There’s a yellow mushroom on that rock over there.”

The Doctor rakes his hand through his hair, leaving bits of reed and cotton fluff in it - she has to grit her teeth to hold back from reaching for him - and saunters over to check out the fungus Rose has spotted.

He shakes his head, and Rose shrugs. A needle in a haystack, this task, but it’s something to focus on, to keep her mind off other things. (Things like the Doctor’s bottom in wet trousers, for instance.) Overhead the sound of chirping intersects with the crunch of moss and soil under the Doctor’s feet, and Rose looks up again.

A flash of yellow underbelly catches Rose’s eye as the little bird takes flight, and she _knows_ , excitement lighting up in her stomach, that she’s found it. Bloody devious, that is, making a tiny bird your team’s flag, and she says as much to the Doctor.

“Brilliant,” he replies, shucking off his coat. Rose takes it from him, watching with interest as he uncuffs his sleeves and rolls them up. She half hopes he’ll loosen his tie, but that’s probably not necessary for climbing trees, and anyway, she’s got enough fantasy fodder as it is. He’s starting to climb, his arms and legs gripping the damp bark, and with each movement his pants tighten around his bum and thighs, and his shirt stretches over his shoulders, the muscles flexing rather pleasantly. He’s a top rate runner, that’s a given, but apparently he’s also a great climber.

Unfortunately, their prey flits from that tree to another, so Rose sets the Doctor’s coat down and shimmies up that tree herself. She’s making good progress until something hits her hard, in the back, just above the bottom of her spine, and another strikes her hand - pebbles? - with enough force to startle her.

Rose lets go and starts falling, heart in her throat, bracing herself for pain and possibly broken bones, but the impact of the ground is softened by… something. Someone. Someone who rolls with her into the mossy undergrowth, breaking her fall and keeping her from getting injured.

The Doctor shouts her name, frantic, and an unfamiliar voice says, “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to make you fall.”

She finds herself sprawled on top of the single most gorgeous male specimen in the entire Universe. His face makes her gasp, he’s so impossibly beautiful. _Alien_ , she thinks, _gotta be alien_. The gorgeous face splits into a smile, warm-toned skin making her think of Brazil on Earth, the land of seemingly concentrated attractiveness in its people. His hand, she realises, is on her bum, but she’s too startled to push it away.

“You’re out,” says the gorgeous bloke, his teeth very white and somehow very flirty. “Rules are rules.”

Behind her she hears an indignant squawk, so Rose lifts her head to see the Doctor, struggling in the grasp of a short, pudgy man wearing a blue head-to-toe skinsuit.

“I’m not going to run,” he says, rolling his eyes. He looks at Rose, and scowls fiercely, “You could’ve killed her!”

“I’m fine,” says Rose reassuringly, but the Doctor still looks extremely annoyed.

“Let’s go,” says the pudgy man.

“Go where?”

The gorgeous bloke smiles again. “To jail, of course.”

 

* * *

 

Jail is boring, but pretty to look at.

It’s certainly the nicest jail they’ve been to, and they’ve been to _a lot_. They’re to wait here until a teammate comes to rescue them or the game ends, whichever happens first.

The prison area is delineated by a circle of dark green trunks three or four metres in diameter, sort of tree-like, sort of not. It’s vegetation of some kind, anyway. In the centre of it is a well, so oddly quaint and Earth-looking it gives Rose pangs in her chest - not of homesickness but of nostalgia. It’s alien, but it feels familiar, something like a glen out of a children’s storybook, a fairy dwelling. It’s cool and quiet and uninhabited save for the two of them, standing next to the well and peering down at it.

Her reflection is distorted in the looking-glass of the water, a dark rippling smudge. It’s joined by another as the Doctor approaches and settles his own hand on the moist, cool stone.

“Gonna rain,” says Rose, her face upturned to the sky, into the grey expanse visible through the ring of dense foliage.

“Feels like it,” he agrees. “In the air. Isn’t it funny, how you can feel it?”

“Can you predict it?”

“The weather?”

“Yeah. Like, can you tell? If a storm’s coming?”

“With my superior Time Lord senses, you mean?”

“Give me the forecast,” says Rose.

The Doctor sticks his tongue out, lifts a finger, licks it - Rose looks away, quickly - and then holds up his index finger like some sort of Timelord weather vane, calculating wind speeds and air pressure and God-knows-what with his saliva-covered digit. Conflicting emotions rise inside her. It’s getting ridiculous, the things he does that she finds attractive, and she can’t help but shift away from him, putting distance between his attractiveness and her yearning.

“No rain until nightfall.”

Rose looks dubiously at the sky again, squinting at the cloud cover. “Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“We’re in jail.”

“Yep.”

“Talking about weather.” She tries making a joke out of it.

The Doctor tilts his head. Instead of tipping up at the corner the way she expects it to, his mouth does the opposite, it goes flat and tight and slightly downturned.

“Did you want to stay with Jackie?”

For a second, her heart stops. “What?”

The Doctor rubs his neck. “Thought you might be worried about her. She seemed in a bad way, I know, but I promise she’s on the mend. Nothing serious. We can go back, if you like.”

“I’m not worried about Mum,” says Rose, alarm fading but confusion still intact. Her finger scratches at the well, the grind of stone on her ragged nail tip oddly comforting.

“Oh.” The Doctor closes his mouth. He shifts to his other foot. “Right.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She stares at him, worry creasing her forehead.

“You just seem a bit distracted.”

Quickly covering her dismay, Rose scoffs. “I’ve been paying more attention than you! I found the flag! Also,” she adds, “This planet! I had one request, and look where you take me! Not sunny,” Rose ticks off her fingers, one by one, “Difficult terrain, full of mud, overly competitive species-”

“Oi,” interjects the Doctor, with great offense, “It does get sunny on this planet, we’ve just happened to land in a spot of rain!”

He leans against the well, plunks his hand into the water and flicks his fingers about. The water’s clear and seems clean, but it’s still alien water, and a part of her wants to tell him not to do that. She bites her tongue, because it’s the sort of thing Mum would say, and the last thing Rose wants to do is remind the Doctor of Jackie when he’s sulking up a storm.

Which he is doing, of course, sulking again, all angled hip and wide-legged stance, trousers clinging wetly to the shape of him. Rose looks away, stares at the ripples he’s making in the surface of the well. Her cheeks heat up, thinking about fingers and wet and squeezing. Her right breast throbs in memory, the wanton, ridiculous thing.

She sucks in a breath, trying to regain control of herself. The sound catches the Doctor’s attention, and he looks up at her sharply. He blinks, twice, as if unsettled by what he sees.

“Are you alright, Rose?”

She wants to scream 'no’, or throw something at him, maybe a rock or alien fruit or herself. It’s hard to decide. Rose opens her mouth to change the subject, to utter a mild complaint, a distraction, a plea for jailbreak, planetbreak, _whatever-_ just something, anything, to get them out of here.

What comes out instead is- “I’m very wet.”

_Jesus bloody Christ._

“My clothes are wet!” she corrects in a panic, looking at the Doctor, who is staring back at her, his eyebrow raised in that stupidly attractive way it has of doing. For a split second his face changes, to an expression she’s never seen before from him, and he looks like he wants to say something. Something completely un-Doctor-like.

That’s just not possible, though, and Rose knows it, just like the Universe knows it, and naturally it provides an interruption before the words can come out of his mouth.

A sound like a thousand horns trumpeting at the same time blares through the air, rustling the verdant canopy above them. Rose jumps, instinctively moving towards the Doctor, hand coming to rest on his coat lapel.

“That would be the signal for the end of the game,” the Doctor says, shifting his weight off the well and straightening up to his true height. She feels his hand rest, briefly, on her back.

It’s something he’s done before - all the time really - using _his_ body parts to move _her_ body parts. An unavoidable part of travelling alongside someone in a spaceship that has a tendency to ricochet across the Universe whilst shaking uncontrollably. Not to mention the number of times they’ve had to run from danger and keep a hold on each other - a very high number, considering how much they’re both prone to attracting trouble. But despite its familiarity she feels the touch right through her wet clothes anyway, the imprint of his fingertips and palm like hot branding against her clammy skin.

“Come on,” he says, expression perfectly normal again, as if her verbal blunder had never happened. His hand slides to her elbow and down the length of her forearm to clasp her hand in his own. “Let’s go see who won, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Back at the encampment, the Doctor wanders off to secure lodgings and dry clothes for Rose. As she’s waiting for him, the gorgeous bloke from the other team re-appears, tapping her on the shoulder.

His name is Taffi, middle name _flirty_ , and not in the least shy about it. They chat up a storm as she follows him to the central lodge, where player rankings are posted and sign-ups for the next game are taken. Taffi is charming and not too self-absorbed, telling her just enough about himself to let her know he’s smart and accomplished but also demonstrating interest in Rose as a person. That’s rare, that is.

He’s also not afraid to suss out the nature of her relationship with her erstwhile Timelord, who is nowhere to be found.

“You two are-?”

It’s a commonly asked question, and Rose has a commonly repeated answer: “I travel with the Doctor.”

“That’s all?”

She knows she should be flattered, he’s obviously surprised and pleased that Rose doesn’t have that sort of relationship with the Doctor, but it makes her feel defensive and a little bit melancholy instead.

The problem isn’t wanting him. He’s brilliant, he is, and she’s quite sure she’d have to be blind or made of stone not to. The problem is he’s never gonna want her back, is he?

“Yeah, that’s all. We’re not- it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I see. But you enjoy it? Travelling?”

“It’s wonderful,” Rose replies. “I love travelling with the Doctor.”

“But he does not sweep you off your feet,” says Taffi.

Oh, he does. She’s afraid she was swept right off the planet, ages ago, perhaps even as far back as 'run’. But Taffi means literally, not metaphorically.

“She’s a sturdy one, Rose Tyler,” interjects a third voice from behind Rose, saving her from having to respond. “There’s not a broom big enough to ruffle her feathers, no sirree. Not even a Dalek could, and that’s saying a lot.”

The Doctor pokes his head over Rose shoulder, his cheerful grin in place. “Hullo. I’m back.” His breath tickles the side of her face and makes her heart beat just that little bit faster.

“Hiya,” says Rose.

“Having a tête-a-tête, are we?”

“Taffi was just curious about our travels. He’s a traveller, as well.”

“Oh?”

“And a pro-athlete,” Rose adds, growing increasingly aware of how the Doctor has not moved the slightest bit away from her. Just that tiny bit too close, and as always she wonders if he’s aware of what he’s doing. “He’s very skilled and very experienced.”

“Indeed.” The Doctor pulls pack, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. They’re still wet, but he doesn’t seem to care. Seeming to lose interest in Taffi’s purported expertise, he says, “I wonder when the next game starts?”

“We’re taking a break for the rest of the day. Next game starts at dawn.” Taffi winks and offers, hand extended, “I could give you some tips. There’s a food lodge, just that way, if you’d like something to eat-”

The Doctor tugs on Rose’s fingers and Taffi’s arm immediately lowers. “Rose, didn’t you say you wanted to change?”

She turns her attention to her Timelord, who bounces slightly on the balls of his feet, cream converse digging painfully into the mud. Lacing his fingers between hers, he looks briefly at Taffi out of the corner of his eye and adds, “I’ve got us a room and some dry clothes for you. Right size and everything. All sorted, like I promised!”

 

* * *

 

The Doctor insists on a change of location, far from the encampment. Rose has got dry clothes on again, and she’s had a kip for a few hours.

“Mountain team! What d'you say? New terrain! The team leader told me it’s a challenge, but very rewarding, and on the summit you can watch the sunrise from the perfect vantage point.”

Rose wonders if it’s even possible to see anything when the skies are this overcast. It’s going to _pour_. A mountaintop sounds like the absolute worst place to be in the middle of a storm, but the Doctor has a determined gleam in his eye and she decides not to bother pointing out these things.

The sunrise isn’t the best she’s ever seen. In fact, it’s barely visible at all, even after climbing to the very top of the hill. Overcast skies, dark grey and green smudges - washed out tones instead of the brilliant oranges and reds and golds she’s used to.

“Figures,” says Rose, a breath huffing between her teeth, the sound is amplified by the silence around them.

“Eh? What did you say?”

In truth, it’s a bit anticlimactic.

The Doctor had made it seem like they were going on a grand date, him and Rose alone, making it clear that Taffi was not invited, definitely not invited, and that they would enjoy themselves immensely without him.

He’s doing that thing he does, sometimes, that confusing thing that Rose secretly likes and hates at the same time. He did it with Mickey, and Adam, and Jack, and now he’s doing it with her new, gorgeous half-human, half-Klaxxen friend.

It’s just… she doesn’t know what he wants or means by it. Rose has her share of jealous moments, she won’t deny it, but she knows what she wants and if she thought he wanted the same things too she would proceed into the getting what she wants part of it.

But she doesn’t know, and she feels the tug of him constantly, warring inside her, needs and desires and fear always present, always tentative. The balance of their relationship keeps shifting, sometimes tipping further and further into that treacherous domain of ever increasing flirtiness, and then sharply, on a hair-trigger, back into decidedly platonic best mates territory.

She’s afraid the frustration will become unbearable, and the dreams don’t help. Keeping her feelings at bay, hidden from her face and in the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand becomes harder and harder. He’s always bragging about his superior Timelord senses, after all. How easy would it be for a 900-year-old alien to suss out that his twenty year old companion is head over heels in love with him?

Down below the other players congregate by the river, their bodies invisible but for the bobbing dots of light that are created by their lanterns. It is a nice view, Rose admits to herself, but she can’t help the sigh that escapes.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, tone softening. His forehead creases with concern. “You’ve not been yourself, Rose.”

She doesn’t know what to say, so she bites her thumbnail, trying to think of a way to get him off her scent.

Gently, he prods, “It’s not Jackie?”

“No.”

“You’re not feeling ill, are you?”

Well, she’s sick of being sexually frustrated, that’s for sure. Does that count as illness? It ought to. She says, “Nah.”

“Then what is it?”

Those brown eyes of his, right bedroom eyes, they are, they’ll be the death of her. She scowls, berating herself for her dismal lack of control - she’s been with the Doctor for more than a year now, long enough to know what’s allowed and what isn’t, and any discomfort she feels for trespassing on those limits is her own fault. Still, a part of her rages at the futility of her feelings. It’s one-sided and it always will be and he’ll go on this way forever, igniting longing and lust inside her without turning a hair on his own head.

“I dunno,” Rose replies, her tone tight with vexation. “I just… imagined something different when you said 'tournament’.“

He pauses, turning his head slightly. “Like what?”

She shrugs. “Something more… romantic. With knights. Like that bloke from Pilsk, the one who was-”

The Doctor’s head swivels around fully, incredulously. “The jousting planet?”

A hint of pink creeps into Rose’s cheek, but she nods, casual. “Yeah. He was- nice, wasn’t he? Great upper body strength. Remember how he lifted me right onto his horse when the other horse almost trampled me?”

“Who could forget,” grumbles the Doctor. “I told you not to get too close. Front row seats, and you’re still not happy with the view.”

“The view was great,” mutters Rose under her breath.

The Doctor’s concern turns into watchfulness. Sometimes she forgets. As well as she knows him, so is the reverse true: he can read her like a book, his clever eyes and cleverer mind attuned to her moods and fears and thoughts. She’ll never best him at poker.

“I know a complaint when I hear one,” he says, eyebrow rising swiftly. “And let me say for the record, I’ll not suffer an unsatisfied companion!” Her face twitches of its own accord, but he goes on obliviously, “900 years of time and space, anything you could ever want, any time, any place, and my ship! All you could ever need! So what is it, Rose Tyler? What’s got you in a strop? What do you want, hey?”

Rose imagines saying, 'you’. She imagines saying, 'to get laid’, and then, “by you.”

After a moment, she says, slowly, “I’m hungry, I s'pose.”

The response is flippant, almost aggressively so, and Rose regrets it once it leaves her mouth. The Doctor taps the ground with his hand, and then stands. Rose feels his shadow fall over her and a feeling akin to panic surges within her.

She looks up to find him looming over her, his back to the view he’s been so excited about. In the murky bluish twilight he’s as much a monument as the mountains, a tall, shadowy form gazing back down at her. Something tight and hot curls in her gut. The desire to stay supplicant surges within Rose as the remnants of a dream flits through her head. The position is painfully familiar to the one in her fantasy, after all… she can recall his expression with clarity, eyes dark and half-lidded, urging her to touch him, to tug down on his zipper… if he reaches out now and tangles his hand into her hair…

“Up you get,” he says in reality, arms outstretched and fingers waggling nowhere near her head. Crimson floods her face and she avoids meeting his eyes as he pulls her to her feet.

They’re too close once she’s standing. Their chests brush lightly as she gains her footing, breasts against torso, and it’s enough to set all her nerve endings on fire. The Doctor smiles fondly, infuriatingly unaware of his effect. Rose feels a mournful tug in her belly, one strong enough to overwhelm the constant current of want that follows her everywhere. That smile is completely and devastatingly platonic.

A familiar refrain repeats itself in her head. _It’s not fair._

_Why is it only me?_

Suddenly piqued at the unfairness of it, Rose pulls away from him and extricates her hand from his grasp. She expects him to let go, to allow her to put space between them the way he always does, because it’s safe and it’s what they do.

Instead he steps into her retreat, arms reaching around her. She thinks, _we can’t hug this one out_ , but doesn’t fight it, because turning down a hug from him is something she’ll never do.

“I think I understand,” says the Doctor.

He doesn’t, but she looks him in the eye anyway, keeping her tone even. “What, Doctor?”

“What you want.” He pauses, tilts his head. “To be-”

Rose says, reluctantly, “To be what?”

The Doctor tightens his hold and dips her, leaning forward until his face eclipses the murky sunrise behind him.

A squeak comes from her throat, embarrassingly enough. She gasps, “What are you doing?”

He looks at her and he says, mouth tipping up at the corner, “You wanted to be swept off your feet, didn’t you?”


	2. Chapter 2

The world feels off-kilter, askew, gravity slipping topsy-turvy. For a moment her brain can’t keep up, and she wonders if she’s fallen down a rabbit hole.

Then, exaggeratedly, the Doctor winks.

He bloody winks and straightens, pulling her back up with him. Grinning like a lunatic, he ruffles his hair and exclaims blithely, “That was fun.”

Rose blinks, letting her hands drop from his shoulders. No, it’s not a rabbit hole. It’s a maze, and she’s a silly befuddled beast, chasing a dangling carrot. Except the carrot stands for every mixed signal ever directed her way by this wayward alien, and Rose is so confused and bewildered she’s mixing her metaphors now, too.

“Oh, come on,” he says, cajolingly, “Not even a smile?”

There’s something lurking in his gaze, something troubled behind the cheerful facade, and Rose realises with a twist in the gut that the Doctor is, in fact, worried. He’s trying to hide it with flirting, and then trying to pass that off with obliviousness, but it all comes back around to the same thing: uncertainty. She’s constantly amazed by this. Someone so fantastic, so brave and intelligent and kind shouldn’t be so afraid of being left behind, but there it is. Rose is never gonna leave him, not willingly, no matter how desperately frustrated she gets. He ought to know that by now.

Her mouth is dry, but she manages to get a quip out, voice a few octaves higher than normal. “Your turn?”

“I dunno, you might drop me. I’m too old to be rolling down this hillside. Imagine! The locals would have a right laugh! What if I rolled straight into that river? Best not, Rose Tyler.”

“I’d come to your rescue,” she says.

“You would,” he agrees, bestowing a fond smile on her. “You always do.”

He separates from her, bouncing three steps away to peer down at the lantern blobs of the villagers below. “It’s almost time for the next round, I reckon. We’d better head over to the rendezvous point.”

The Doctor takes her hand and pulls her down the path.

Rose shakes her head. _Get a grip_ , she tells herself. _He’ll figure it out, if you don’t._

That’s the last thing she needs: her best friend realising how desperately she wants to shag him.

Taffi’s waiting for them at the congregation. He waves, beckoning Rose and the Doctor over. “Did you enjoy your break?”

“Absolutely,” says the Doctor. “Didn’t we, Rose?”

“Uh huh.”

“Ready for a rematch?”

“Oh yes.”

“There’s something else you might not know,” Taffi adds casually, ever the trouble-maker. “You can switch teams at the end of each game.”

The Doctor frowns, and says, “Well-”

Rose says, “Really?”

They look at each other.

Taffi clears his throat. “There’s one space left on my team.”

“Rose,” says the Doctor, warningly. “We shouldn’t be separated.”

Maybe it’s her frustrations getting the better of her, but Rose doesn’t relent. Or perhaps it’s the thought of putting some distance between them, to relieve this one-way, aching tension.

“Yeah, okay,” she says to Taffi. “Thanks!”

“You’re joking!”

“Oh, why not?”

“We should stick together until we find where we’ve parked the TARDIS. If we get separated I’ll have to go chasing after you-”

But something - possibly the memory of the look in his eyes earlier when he dipped her - gives her the courage to say what she says next.

“Dunno. Might like being chased by you.”

His eyebrow shoots up, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot, tilting his head back to consider her words for what they are: a challenge. The moment stretches out on a knife’s edge. Taffi clears his throat, but neither of them seem to hear it.

“Alright, Rose Tyler,” he says at last, tongue touching the roof of his mouth, “If that’s what you want.”

Her stomach does a flip.

The Doctor says, a glint in his eye, “Run.”

Oh, she does.

 

* * *

 

Rose is pretty damn good at running by now. Her legs are strong and so are her lungs, and she’s well-trained and practiced at sprinting. She could sprint for England! Her endurance isn’t as great as it could be, cross-country would not be on her list of abilities, but in such an instance the Doctor would cover for her. He’s got great stamina.

(Her mind wanders, too easily.)

Rose pauses, a split second, to look behind her as she stumbles through the vaguely fir-like forest. A flash of brown pursues her through the trees, weaving back and forth, far too agile for her comfort. She can’t figure out how he’s doing that, and runs harder, hoping to out-pace him.

There’s a waterfall nearby, she can hear the roar of it. Her mad dash nearly ends in a thirty-metre drop into churning waters. An arm loops around her waist as she skids to a heart-wrenching stop, barely avoiding falling to her demise.

“I’ve got you,” the Doctor mutters, dragging her back against him, bodies flush. He feels solid, safe, and she’s so grateful she could kiss him. She settles for pressing her head into the hollow between his shoulder and neck as her heart races.

“Thanks,” says Rose, breathless.

His arm tightens about her middle, and he bends his head a little to speak again into her ear. “Running headlong into danger,” he tuts, nose brushing her temple, “As always.”

His voice is deeper, laced with something that makes Rose’s skin tighten, all over. Her heart won’t stop racing. She clutches at his arm, adrenaline going overboard-

“You’re alright,” the Doctor says, taking several steps back as his hand strokes gently down her side. “Come on, come over here-”

“Too close,” Rose mutters, legs trembling. She turns in his hold, burrowing into his chest in a well practiced maneuver. He walks backwards, pulling her further away from the edge.

“I won’t let you fall.”

“I know,” says Rose, lip caught between her teeth, distracting him long enough to walk them another five feet in the right direction.

Then he looks up, sees the glowing blue shimmer of the optic ward - the line between territories - and realises they’ve crossed into enemy ground.

“Got you!” Rose says, gripping him tightly. She shoves him backwards into a bunch of fronds. They land in a heap of laughter and shouting, the Doctor cursing mildly in what she assumes must be the language of the Time Lords, since it’s not translated in her head automatically.

“Tricked and beaten,” he groans, flat on his back on the grassy ground with Rose straddling his midriff. She grins, tongue peeking out, triumph in her blood. For a second she savours it, hands gripping his coat lapels, keeping him trapped beneath her.

It’s uncannily similar to the position she’d been in hours ago, sitting atop Taffi. With one glaring difference: Taffi had shamelessly copped a feel and the Doctor never would.

“I’m sure I’m very comfortable to sit on,” the Doctor says, wriggling under her and breaking her out of her thoughts (a rather good thing, too, as they were taking a decided turn for the lewd), “But shouldn’t you be tossing me into jail now? Oof.”

“Oi, are you calling me fat?”

He sucks air through his teeth, and flails his arms, trying to dislodge her. Rose clenches her knees, squeezing him harder, and he sputters.

“Ow! That’s my spleen!”

Suddenly the world spins, topsy-turvy, and Rose finds herself flipped onto her back, staring up in astonishment at the Doctor, who is grinning down at her.

“Ha!”

He’s far too pleased with himself, feeling like the victor in their scuffle, and Rose is far too distracted by the feeling of their respective pelvises pressing against each other to disabuse him of the notion.

“You’re too heavy,” she complains without much conviction, shoving at his chest.

“Now who’s calling who fat?” The Doctor shoots her a wry look, but he hauls himself off Rose anyway and helps her to her feet with both hands.

“Fair’s only fair,” he says good-naturedly, lacing their fingers together. “So where’s jail, then?”

Ten minutes later, one of his teammates performs a prison break when Rose has her back turned. The Doctor waggles his fingers gleefully at her before taking off into the underbrush, his quiff askew.

 

* * *

 

The Doctor shouts over his shoulder as Rose gives chase, “You’re so not playing this game properly!”

“Whatever!”

“It’s called ‘Capture the Flag’, Rose. Not 'Capture the Doctor’!”

“Blah blah blah!” She shouts back, ducking an outlying branch.

Giddy adrenaline courses through her veins. This is more like it. This is them, being silly and having fun, and she wants to laugh at how utterly brilliant it is.

“Ow!”

“Gotcha!”

Rose gives a cry of victory as the Doctor stumbles, allowing her to throw herself onto his back for the third time. The Doctor falls flat on his face and grumbles, “That’s not fair! I didn’t see that tree root!”

He didn’t see the other tree roots, either, nor the boulder, and he’s tripped so many times Rose thinks he might just be letting her catch him on purpose.

But the way he’s got his hand on her thigh, scrabbling for purchase to flip over - that can’t be on purpose. Nor the brush of his fingertips against her ribs, catching underside of one breast, that’s not on purpose, either.

And the way his neck breaks out into gooseflesh when her lip glances his ear - that’s just an accident.

It’s got to be. Right?

 

* * *

 

Of course, not long after that the tables turn and then it’s the Doctor doing the chasing. Which is patently unfair, his stride is much longer than hers. And he keeps shouting out things like 'Time Lords can smell fear!“ which makes Taffi throw confused looks in Rose’s direction as she rolls her eyes. Still, they manage to get close to the opposing team’s flag, her and Taffi, losing the Doctor somewhere along the way. She’s feeling confident, they might actually win this, and it’ll give her gloating rights in the TARDIS for _weeks_ -

Rose clambers over a series of mossy boulders in the middle of a hazy clearing carved into the side of the mountain, excitement buzzing in her veins.  The flag - a brilliant blue amphibian, halfway between a lizard and a frog - rests on a boulder in the middle, it’s glossy and hopefully not-poisonous skin gleaming in the late morning sunshine.

Rose points, whooping with glee. Only to have her hopes immediately dashed.

Because, quite suddenly, a familiar brown-topped head pops up behind a boulder to her left, face bearing a grin so wide it ought to hurt his cheeks. Taffi grinds to a halt behind Rose, cursing. She groans and promptly falls off her rock.

"Hello! Oh, oopsy-daisy!”

She’s been rumbled. Wincing, Rose stands and gestures at Taffi, indicating that she’s going to have to surrender to the Doctor.

“I’ll come quietly if you let my teammate go,” she declares dramatically.

“Fair enough,” says the Doctor with an amicable nod. He keeps his eyes focused on Rose, and lifts his hand, waving in Taffi’s general direction. “Go on, then.”

“I’ll be back to save you,” says her comrade sincerely, before turning tail and running off.

Rose sighs.

“Come on,” says the Doctor, still eying her and bouncing on his heels. “I’m taking you to jail.”

 

* * *

 

The Doctor sits on a rock, legs crossed, whistling.

“Everything’s bigger and better over on this side, Rose Tyler,” he brags. “Even our jail’s impressive. It ought to be. I chose it.”

“Everything, huh?”

“Everything,” the Doctor agrees, with a slight tilt of his head and just the barest hint of a smirk. It hits Rose like an anvil.

Was that… was that innuendo?

He smiles wider. “Ready to call a truce?”

“It’s not a truce if I’m in prison!” she protests, still  staggered.

“Think of it as a guest stay,” he suggests. “Just until the game ends.”

“Why, are we leaving? You’ve found the TARDIS?”

He shrugs. “Unless you want to stay?”

Rose hesitates. “Okay,” she agrees, “But I want to say goodbye first.”

She waits a couple of seconds for his jealousy to kick in. It’s an old reliable standby, the streak of possessiveness he has.

“Rude not to,” says the Doctor, in a very carefree sort of way.

There it is, a hint of archness in his tone.

She shouldn’t but she can’t help fanning the flames, even if it is a futile endeavor. It won’t get her anywhere, not really. “Taffi was very nice, wasn’t he? He said my hair was like sunshine. That’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

“Mm. Nice, yeah.”

Oh, that’s convincing. Rose looks away, irritated at herself for wanting a compliment from him, and half-hurt that he can’t muster up one. But he knows her blonde comes from a bottle, so maybe it’s not impressive to him.

“He showed me his prosthetic knee,” she goes on. “It’s got screws made out of diamond. And his calves were amazing,” she adds, when he doesn’t take bait. “D'you reckon he works out like, at least twice a day? They’re like twice the size of normal people’s calves!” She peers at the Doctor’s leg, as if mentally comparing.

That does it. He explodes, the peacock.

“I’ve got very impressive calves!” The Doctor looks outraged. “Think of all the running I do! These are marathon calves! Never mind diamond screws, these calves are practically deities on Rexcavor, they’re worshipped by the locals! When I visit they form a mob and try to grab a squeeze, it’s supposed to bring good fortune and wealth! These are money-bequeathing calves!”

She imagines throngs of aliens worshipping at his feet, and it’s a bit pathetic how easily she can picture it. He has a tendency of doing that, reducing people to undiluted genuflection. Heat climbs to her cheeks as that pesky dream pops into her head again, in which she’d been the one reducing a Time Lord to his knees.

“What?” he asks, abruptly, because he always notices her lapses of control when she doesn’t want him to.

Rose opens her mouth to say ‘nothing’, but before she can, a crash of thunder rips the air apart. She barely has time to register her alarm - the Doctor’s already moving. As he slides off his rock, hand grappling for Rose, she feels it: the sky unleashing a torrent of rain, the cold biting lash of it soaking them in an instant. The temperature drops sharply and instantly, close companion to the storm’s arrival.

The Doctor shouts something, a curse maybe, or _I told you so_ , and drags Rose behind him as he sets off on a run. They stumble through the undergrowth towards the mouth of a cavern that opens up suddenly on the side of the mountain.

It’s cold and damp inside, but at least it’s cover. Rose finds the driest corner and curls up against the least sharp surface available, arms hugging her knees to her chest. The Doctor sets to gathering bits of kindling, hoping to start a fire, perhaps, but it’s just not dry enough. He pulls his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and starts adjusting the settings.

She’s soaked through. Dread gathers in the pit of her stomach and Rose realises this won’t do. Her fingers are turning blue at the tips and she can’t seem to stop trembling. Hypothermia is a real threat now.

“Doctor,” Rose whispers, teeth chattering. “I have to… take off my clothes.”

'Mm,“ says the Doctor, still calibrating his sonic.

"Did you hear what I said?”

“You’re taking off your clothes,” he echoes, nodding absently. “They’re soaked and you’re cold. Absolutely right. Go ahead.” He shrugs out of his coat and drops it at her feet.

With jerky movements, Rose unzips her hoodie and pulls it off. Another fantasy, dashed. She’s not above admitting she’s thought about this exact scenario playing out once or twice in her imagination, but never like this.

He’s not looking, of course. It’s not even the first time she’s undressed in front of him, expediency being the name of the game on several dire situations. Rose removes everything but her knickers. They’re just as soaked as her sports bra, but taking them off seems impossible, leaving her far too exposed. Aching with cold, Rose pulls the Doctor’s coat on and threads her arms into the too big sleeves. It’s damp but does the job, keeping her basically covered.

After several more minutes of futile fiddling, she hears the Doctor grumble, ’ _doesn’t do wood_ ’, before reluctantly turning to face Rose. The irritation on his face fades, guilt and concern taking it’s place.

“You’re shivering badly,” he says, frowning. He shoves his sonic away and crouches down next to her. Rose clutches his coat tighter around herself, trying not to blush, trying not to think too deeply about her nakedness and his proximity and his gaze.

He settles down next to her against the cavern wall, brushing a hand across her cheek. It’s as undressed as she’ll ever get to see him - the Doctor stripped down to his shirtsleeves, top buttons undone, his tie shoved into his trouser pocket.

“We’ll go after the storm subsides,” he says in a  fortifying voice, dropping a peck on the top of her head. “Back to the TARDIS. Get you in a nice warm bath, a hot cuppa or two, and you’ll be right as rain.”

Minutes pass in silence, save for the sound of rain, relentless and constant. It’s not so bad. The storm is fierce, but the worst of it is over fairly quickly. Enough so that when someone passes by the mouth of the cavern, their voice can be heard shouting Rose’s name over the din.

Something a bit too much like disappointment hovers in her gut.

The Doctor meets her eyes. Rose inhales, sharply, at the look he’s giving her.

_Don’t._

She could. She could do it right now, call out to Taffi and get rescued. The cave is so cold and damp and uncomfortable. But the Doctor’s leg is pressed against hers through his coat, the long line of it providing a measure of warmth, and his eyes hold a silent demand she can’t refuse.

_Don’t._

In the end, Rose can’t bring herself to make a sound. Seconds trickle by, filled with Taffi’s shouts and their silence. The Doctor flicks his gaze to the overhang and waits, an impatient look on his face. The footsteps recede at last. Rose shivers under the brown wool.

It’s a bad idea, but she does it anyway. She edges closer to him, arm to arm, until her cheek rests lightly on his shoulder. Through the wet cotton of his sleeve she feels his muscle tense, just barely. It’s nothing compared to the tension in the air, crackling like electricity.

“Rose,” he murmurs, lifting his arm to maneuver it over her head. She moves forward to let him work it between the cave wall and her back. His hand brushes the side of her ribcage, a fleeting caress, before he settles it on her hip over his coat.

She lifts her head an inch, enough to bring their noses into contact, tips brushing. Her eyes flutter shut and after one suspended moment, in which she waits agonized and hopeful, Rose feels a gentle pressure against her lips, brief, fleeting.

He mumbles something but she can’t hear it over the loud hammering of her heart, only catches the tail end of it… “-okay?”

No, it isn’t, it’s not nearly enough, but she’ll live with it. They’ll wait this out together, and pretend it never happened, and he’ll take her somewhere else to lather, rinse, repeat.

“Yeah,” she whispers, pressing her mouth closed and running her tongue over the skin of her lips, trying to collect whatever taste of him might be left there from that brief, comforting kiss.

Something is different this time, though. Different enough to make her toes tingle, and not just from the cold. His face - his expression -  is odd as he watches her lick her lips; something dark flashing in those shielded brown eyes of his. It’s a new look, one she’s afraid to name, because if she could she’d call it want.

Which is madness.

“Don’t do that,” he says, voice rough, startling her.

“What?”

He looks away, schooling his features into a semblance of normal. Except normal has never consisted of the two of them huddled together for warmth, with Rose almost completely naked in his arms. There’s a heat to the thought, curling in her stomach even as she outwardly shivers.

His nose flares, but he still refuses to look at her. Her sluggish neurons fire and connect the dots, making the leap. The Doctor wants this. He hadn’t called out for help, hadn’t wanted Taffi to discover them. He’d wanted this, to sit out this storm alone in the dark with her.

The thought gives her courage to press on, to push the limits.

“Doctor?” Her voice holds a note of pleading, and that’s what breaks him. He looks down at her mouth and swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.

She licks her lips again, slow, gauging his reaction. A thrill chases along her spine. Yes. There it is.

_Want._

“Please.”

It comes out as a whimper, but she wants this so bad, wants him so bad, she can’t bring herself to care. He knows now, there’s no going back, so why pretend otherwise? The worst that can happen is he’ll reject her, push her away, but she doesn’t think he will. The tight line of his clenched jaw, the tense cords in his neck, and his penetrating, dilated gaze… all of it pointing to one conclusion.

He says, simply, “You’re sure?”

In answer, Rose tugs on his shoulder, pulls his hand from her waist to her chest. He sucks in a sharp breath before kissing her, tongue begging entrance as he cups one breast. The feel of his thumb stroking over her nipple makes her gasp, giving him the advantage. His tongue sweeps into her mouth and then she’s lost to the feel of him, cool and slick and determined.

Cold air prickles at her skin. His coat has fallen down her shoulders in their haste, and the Doctor takes advantage of that, too, kissing his way down her chin and jaw and neck to lick at her collarbone. He shifts to kneel between her legs, his hair tickling her neck as he closes his lips around one nipple, fingers pinching the other.

It’s better than her dreams, and she’s half-terrified she’s about to wake up and discover that it’s not really happening, after all. That his mouth isn’t really doing terribly delicious things to her body, that his hand isn’t really fondling her bottom, kneading and caressing with eagerness.

Dreams don’t come true, not like this. Not this dream, surely.

But then the Doctor snakes his hand down her abdomen, under her knickers, and fucking _touches_ her right where she’s aching for him. Every bit of doubt in her brain melts away, sparking into pure lust, and she bucks as the Doctor starts to finger her.

He swallows her cries, sealing her mouth with his own. It’s effective at first, the kiss distracting her enough to make her forget about screaming, until his other hand releases its grip on her bottom to delve between her legs. He circles her clit with a lazy finger, in tandem with the ones thrusting repeatedly in and out of her. She breaks free, gasping, and can’t contain the moans that come from a place deep, deep within her. Deeper than his fingers can reach, and even though this is good, so good, Rose wants _more_.

She keens, loudly, and the Doctor groans, watchful eyes on her face. He says, into the skin at the hollow of her throat, “Shhh,” even though Taffi is long gone and they’re weathering this storm alone. There’s an urgency in his voice, equal parts rough and smug.

When she forces her eyes open to look at him she can see just how affected he is. The dark, uninhibited desire there sends a jolt straight to Rose’s belly, mingling with the tension building inside her. She climaxes, hard, as the Doctor twists his fingers deliberately, arching them, his thumb provides pressure and friction on her nub in exactly the right way.

The sound she makes is drowned out by the loud, unmistakable blast of the trumpeting horns that signify the end of the game.

Rose buries her face into the Doctor’s neck, trembling from head to toe, sparks of pleasure still coursing through her veins, heavy and liquid. He strokes her hair with slow fingers and pulls the coat firmly around her to keep out the cold. His thudding heartbeats are loud and soothing under her palm.

 

* * *

 

The TARDIS is too far away, and the Doctor is too impatient.

So they return to their assigned cabin, a charmingly rustic, old-world-y style affair, something the Doctor says is in fashion in the 42th century. There’s one bed, the same one Rose napped in earlier while the Doctor poked about, trying to locate the TARDIS.

The Doctor pushes his coat off her shoulders onto the floor and joins her there, perching himself on the edge of the mattress as he unbuttons his cuffs. His eyes are fixed on her breasts, mouth slightly open as he stares, and she’s too turned on to feel shy.

“I had a dream about you,” Rose says bravely, lying back and unzipping her jeans. They were donned merely for the duration of the journey from the cave to the cabin, and she kicks them without hesitation. “Earlier.”

“Oh,” he says, after a moment of intent silence. “Was it a good dream?”

“It was. You woke me up in the middle of it.”

“Ah. Sorry. I do love a good dream, though. Brilliant things, dreams. Get to do all sorts of things in dreams you wouldn’t get to do otherwise. Fun things, scary things, lovely things…” His big, manly, hairy hand lands on her ankle, stroking tenderly.

Rose slides her knickers down, draws her legs up, and parts her knees. Yep. Definitely scary, but when his gaze falls there between her legs where she’s wet and throbbing for him, and he looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe-

“Lovely indeed,” he says quietly, hand sliding up her ankle to her calf. He bends and presses a line of kisses to her knee, slowly inching his way down her thigh. She bites her lip and squirms under his undivided attention, something he definitely notices. That dark look comes back to his gaze, making her inhale sharply, and then she’s moaning because he’s put his mouth there where he’s admiring her, and _oh god!_

Rose gasps and grips his bicep, “Oh! A-a little warning, yeah?”

He licks her in reply, all along her wet slit, hands gripping the top of her thighs and pulling her closer. Rose lets her legs fall open further, giving him better access, and he moans in approval. His hands drop to his trousers, fingers deftly pulling the zipper down. Then he’s shucking them off and unfastening his shirt buttons with impatience, wriggling his way out of his clothes all the while keeping his tongue busy.

She’s writhing now, thrashing her head back and forth on the pillow. Desperate noises emerge from  the back of her throat, cries interspersed with his name. The Doctor takes it all as encouragement, lapping at her, alternating between sucking on her folds and sliding his tongue inside her while she tugs on his hair.

He builds the pleasure teasingly, keeping her on edge but not giving her enough to push her over. The tension becomes unbearable, verging on pain, and finally, _finally,_ he swipes the tip of his tongue over the bud at the top of her sex, right where she craves him. Bliss crashes over her in rolling waves. Rose shudders, cries out his name once again, and rides out the pleasure as the Doctor watches, his warm, desiring eyes locked on her body.

“Absolutely lovely,” he says, pressing a light kiss to her clit. “I hope that was as good as in your dream.”

“Better,” Rose pants.

The grin he shoots her is positively filthy and makes her insides clench. He crawls up her body, dropping kisses as he goes, licking the underside of one breast, and sucking briefly on a tender spot at the base of her neck.

“Mine too. You’re outperforming every fantasy I’ve ever had of you,” he admits, sending a thrill through her. Catching her gaze, he nods, “Oh yes. I’ve had loads of fantasies about you, Rose. I don’t sleep, remember? All that free time on my hands, when you’re adrift in slumber… in your bed…”

“-dreaming about you,” she interrupts, and gets a deep, grateful kiss as reward. He tugs at her lower lip, nipping at it, murmuring her name and insinuating himself deeper between her thighs. The weeping head of his erection brushes her thigh, so hard and hot, and her inner muscles clench again with longing.

“Want you,” she says. “Doctor, I-”

The Doctor groans deep in his chest, and lines himself up with his hand, his blunt tip barely entering her. His forehead presses to hers, and he hesitates long enough to ask, “You’re certain?”

_“Want you,”_ she says again, shifting under him. She tucks her legs around his hips and digs her feet into his arse, an urgent plea. He grits his teeth and obliges with a single thrust, stretching Rose deliciously as he bottoms out, hitting a spot inside her she didn’t know existed.

“Rose, oh, Rose,” her name falls from his lips like a mantra, repeated with each thrust. “Rose, Rose- you feel amazing. So warm, so tight-”

He rears up suddenly, hands gripping her thighs. The world condenses to the feeling of him buried inside her and the focus of his gaze on where they’re joined. He’s making needy sounds, too, watching as his cock disappears and reappears between her folds.

Helplessly, her eyes fall shut, little sparks dancing on the inside of her lids. The Doctor pounds into her, passion making his rhythm stutter slightly, but it’s good, the feeling of him losing control. He falls upon her again, hand on her clit and mouth tracing the lobe of her ear. He growls, “Rose…”

Her breath catches on the end of each thrust. All she can manage is a throaty mumble, just his name, nails raking down his back. “Doctor-”

“Please,” he’s reduced to begging, his voice a hungry whisper, “Can you, Rose, I need-”

Rose wants to, she really does, but having come twice, she’s gonna need something to help her get there again. Something to push her over the edge. His voice. His need.

“Tell me what you want, Doctor.”

“I want to feel you around me,” he groans. “You’re so hot, and so tight…”

She feels it, an excited flutter down there, building where the Doctor’s working her with his cock and fingers.

“One more time,” he says roughly, into her ear, hot breath sending shivers down her neck. “You can, Rose. For me.”

Almost. Just a little bit more. A little more… She tightens her muscles around him, deliberately, and his reaction is _delicious._

He thrusts, hard and desperate. “Rose, _come-!”_

Rose obeys, responding helplessly to his demanding tone, peaking hard and sudden. She bites into his shoulder, muffling her scream. The Doctor follows not long after, driving her into the mattress as he comes and spends himself inside her.

He rolls over, still inside her, keeping her close like he can’t bear to be separated. She clenches her muscles around him in helpless response to the movement, and the Doctor groans even though he’s softening. “Not… just yet,” he says, “I need some time to, ah, recover.”

A giggle rises in her throat, and despite his protests he’s gripping her bottom, hands still possessive and eager.

“Unbelievable,” Rose says, giggling again, after several minutes of catching her breath.

“What?”

“You. This.”

He opens one eye and peers at her. “Post-coital bliss seems to have turned me into a dimwit, I’m afraid.”

She can’t help the giddiness in her voice. “We shagged!”

“We did,” he replies, gleeful. “Completely. Wonderfully. Some of our best work, Rose. Top-notch shagging. The earth moved.”

“Like I said, _unbelievable.”_ Euphoria battles with incredulity in her chest. “I mean… I can’t believe it!”

“Neither can I,” he says, wonderingly.

They look at one another.

Rose speaks first, apprehensive. “You’re okay with this?”

He volleys the question back, eyes wide, watchful. “What about you?”

“I wanted it to happen,” she admits.

“I know. Well. I suspected. I do have superior senses. You’ve been getting all hot and bothered lately and-”

“Your fault,” Rose says, “Being so fit all the time-”

He pauses, momentarily distracted by her quip, but goes on to confess, “There’s been times when I thought, _maybe_ … but then you’d back off all of a sudden. So. I wasn’t… sure. If it was for me, that is. If you wanted any of this with me.”

Rose thinks about the frustration and longing, and how just several hours ago she thought she would have to spend the rest of her time with the Doctor wanting him and never being wanted in return. Idiot, she thinks fondly. Both of us.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She touches his cheek, marvelling at his expression. So completely, utterly enraptured. There’s nothing of the anger or darkness he carries around left in him at this very moment. “Why would I want to do this with anyone but you?”

He nuzzles her palm and runs his hand down the bare curve of her spine. Rose snuggles closer, enjoying the caress.

“Now, getting back to the topic of my being fit,” he says, eyebrow rising. “All the time, you say?”

A blush heats up Rose’s cheeks. He grins, smug and completely aware of his effect on her. “I’m glad you think so, Rose, because I think you’re very fit, all the time, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. I’m fit, you’re fit, and I think it’s been well established by now that we fit together marvellously, so-” He glances at her, and she puts on an innocent face, “So, I’m just saying-”

“-We ought to keep shagging?”  

“It’d be a waste not to,” he finishes, perfectly deadpan.

“You’re right,” says Rose, and rolls him under her.

 

 


End file.
